The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Two

All night her troubled sleep buffeted the makeshift ramparts
The flip-flop flop flop flop of her tears undermining hearts
The plaintive cry of the lone crane seeking the flock heading south
When it paused on her pubic lushes’ warm geothermal parts

Some thought she’d un-crossed her legs during the chill of the night
Though the islets and reed pockets still held their primal sight
Others heard her moan and groan in the dark of their tight sleep
While strapped sailing boats shook their mast-heads testing their
frail might

Full many clusters of menacing clouds came hurrying by
Hoping to caress ripe bosom and swell lap on the sly
Some girl gazed past misty curtains and saw Ol’ Khayyam rise
On hillock shoulder where he pitched his tent to the dim sky

No lover so loyal as that lonesome lass from Lahore
Everyday as she gently treads to her job on the Mall floor
Her dark diamond eyes carved into milk-white blushing cheeks
Her tulip lips part for the tent-maker’s son of Nishapur

And all the glory of an opening night at La Scala
Break through to greet Bonjour to our Lady Traviata
She blinks her stricken eyes to turn fountains to water-falls
Then rippling tummy and lolling breasts belt: Viva Aria!